


A Citizen of You

by misbegotten



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:50:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur knows her favorite perfume, her class schedule, her medical history, how she takes her coffee, and the scarf that she prefers above all others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Citizen of You

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/17947.html?thread=39271451#t39271451) inception_kink prompt.

_as a traveler goes into a new country_

Arthur knows her favorite perfume, her class schedule, her medical history, how she takes her coffee, and the scarf that she prefers above all others.

He does not know which side of the bed she sleeps on, the sounds she makes as she nears climax, the way her pink lips look striped around his cock. Not yet.

 _and learns its customs and language_

Ariadne is building a cathedral, not as solemn as Notre Dame but a rainbow of windows, another Sainte Chapelle. Arthur watches the glass slot into place, bleeding colors flickering in the half-light of the nave, and then studies her face. There's no look of intense concentration, simply ease and joy in creation.

"A home for the bishop?" he asks, amused.

Her lips twitch, pleased, and she takes his hand to bring him forward to the altar. There's a Renaissance triptych, and for a moment Mary flickers with Ariadne's face. When she draws his head towards hers for an open-mouthed kiss, however, he forgets that he ever imagined her a virgin.

 _so I will learn you_

Spring becomes summer, and they dance around one another through verbal quips and long hours spent dreaming. They do a couple of small jobs, for which Ariadne overprepares and Arthur lets her, because it appeals to his meticulous nature. In the aftermath she talks with her hands, the simmering heat of creation just below her skin, and when he brushes a piece of croissant from the edge of her mouth she leans into his cool touch. She drinks too much that night, trading shots with Eames, and lets Arthur handle her into a cab after the bar closes.

"You should come with me," she says mournfully. "I need someone to dream with."

He presses a kiss to her forehead and promises her another time.

Summer bleeds into autumn, and another time becomes dinner at her flat, take-out cartons and chopsticks. Ariadne raises an eyebrow as he carefully lines up the leftovers in her refrigerator, then puts her hands around his waist and presses her head to his back. "What are you waiting for?" she asks, and Arthur threads his fingers through hers. "You," and the answer rings through him like an unburied truth, one laced into his flesh, housed in his dreams.

He takes his time undressing her, scattering kisses as he goes, marking her pale neck, shoulder, the swell of her breast, the line of her ribcage. He learns where she's ticklish, where her breath hitches, and where she bites her lip. She reciprocates, her fingers dancing over his skin, sliding down to the obvious proof of his intent, taking his erection in her palm and caressing it in time with the beat of his pulse. Pleasure overtakes him, screaming down his spine, and he says her name like an incantation, like he conjured her from a dream, "Ari, Ari."

When he sheathes himself inside her she inhales heavily, breathes out a shaky laugh and twines her fingers across his neck to pull him down into a battle of tongues. He slides in and out of her, slick with her arousal and pulled by the gravity of her hips, and when her breath goes unsteady he finds her clit, teasing with his finger until she's pulled along with him into orgasm. They lay together limply in the aftermath, and Ariadne murmurs in French, something about being worth the wait.

 _I will become a citizen of you_

Arthur knows her secret places, the spots untouched by other lovers. He has a passport to her skin, takes it on like another identity, safeguarded knowledge held close to his chest.

Beside him, Ariadne stirs in her sleep and says his name, like he's come home.


End file.
